Chapter 3
The bright colors of the ballroom—the shimmering golds, the deep crimsons of the drapery, the vibrant floral arrangements—seemed to sharpen in intensity as the room held its collective breath. Alessia ignored Evelyn completely, treating the older woman as if she were nothing more than a ghost. She walked directly toward Garrett, her heels clicking rhythmically against the marble floor. Every step was deliberate, predatory, and overflowing with an intimidating, masculine energy masked by her stunning feminine elegance.
Garrett stood his ground, crossing his arms over his tailored tuxedo. His fair skin was flushed with adrenaline, his chest puffed out in a pathetic display of dominance. He believed his position as her husband granted him immunity. He was catastrophically mistaken.
Alessia stopped exactly two feet away from him. The height difference was marginal, but her presence towered over him.
"Garrett," Alessia said, her voice ice-cold and unyielding. "You have exactly five seconds."
"Five seconds for what, sweetheart?" Garrett mocked, a lazy smile spreading across his face. "Are you going to scold me in front of your thugs?"
"Kneel and apologize," Alessia commanded.
The silence that followed was absolute. Even the breathing of the guests seemed to cease.
Garrett stared at her for a moment, and then he threw his head back and laughed. It was a loud, booming, arrogant sound that echoed off the vaulted ceilings. He laughed directly in her face, shaking his head as if she had just told a hilarious joke.
"Kneel?" Garrett wiped a fake tear from his eye. "You think because you wear that little signet ring you can treat me like one of your soldiers? I am your husband. I am the reason the federal prosecutors haven't raided this estate! You should be on your knees thanking me!"
He did not get to finish his thought.
Alessia’s body coiled like a steel spring. Without pulling her arm back to telegraph the strike, she pivoted her hips, driving all her weight into one explosive, devastating punch directly across Garrett’s face.
The sound of her knuckles connecting with his jaw was a sickening, concussive crack.
Garrett’s head snapped violently sideways. The sheer kinetic force of the blow lifted him off his polished leather shoes. His body spun backward, his arms flailing wildly as he staggered several steps in reverse, completely unable to regain his balance.
Behind him lay the shallow decorative indoor fountain, a sprawling basin of dark stone filled with shimmering water and floating, lit candles. Garrett crashed directly into the low stone wall of the feature. He flipped backward over the edge, plunging into the water with a tremendous splash.
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Water erupted into the air, raining down over his expensive tuxedo. Floating candles shot across the wet marble floor, their flames hissing out. A heavy stone flower arrangement beside the fountain was overturned by his flailing legs, crashing into the water beside him. Garrett landed soaking wet, gasping and thrashing inside the decorative basin.
The ballroom fell completely silent. No one moved. No dialogue was spoken. There was only the sound of water dripping from the shattered stone.
